RZ67 the Bellows of Destiny

A Medium Format Misadventure in Lyon: The RZ67 and the Bellows of Destiny

Once upon a croissant-fueled morning in Lyon, the city of silk, saints, and seven million cobblestones, a man with more confidence than common sense decided to take the Mamiya RZ67 out for some “light street photography.”

Now, this wasn’t just any camera — it was The Box. A mechanical behemoth. A beautiful, cruel mistress. A black monolith with bellows so grand, they once made a passing accordionist weep with envy.

Our hero, a proud analog zealot and spiritual enemy of autofocus, believed that pain equaled quality. So naturally, he chose to lug a camera that weighed as much as a bowling ball across an ancient French city built on hills.

Stop 1: Fourvière Hill — “The Hill That Tests Your Faith”

The adventure began with a funicular ride to Fourvière Hill, camera strapped tight, tripod awkwardly swinging behind like a medieval lance. Reaching the top, he was met with panoramic views and immediate regret.

Setting up his tripod with theatrical determination, he opened the waist-level viewfinder — a glowing portal into another dimension. It was so bright and majestic, pigeons could have nested inside. He framed the Basilica perfectly. Then — disaster. The guillotine film door was still in. Click. Nothing.

A local child pointed and said, “Papa, is that a movie camera?”

No, child. It’s a lesson in humility.

Street Tip #1: Always remove the dark slide. It’s the difference between a breathtaking landscape and a silent sigh into the void.

Stop 2: Vieux Lyon — A Study in Missed Moments

Winding down into Vieux Lyon, our hero found himself among cobbled alleys, secret traboules, and irresistible golden-hour light. At a quiet corner, an old man leaned against a wall, smoking with cinematic despair.

He framed. He focused. He fired.

But the leaf shutter was so polite — so whisper-quiet — that he wasn’t sure the shot even happened. He looked down. No film advance. No exposure. No photo. The man wandered off, taking his perfect composition with him.

Street Tip #2: The RZ67’s shutter may be subtle, but its vengeance is loud. Load film. Wind it. Confirm it. Or you’re just pretending to be a photographer with a very nice lunchbox.

Stop 3: Presqu’île — Weight, and the Weight of Expectation

In Place Bellecour, surrounded by stylish locals and even more stylish pigeons, he tried to go “stealth.” With a camera that looks like a satellite module. He raised the RZ, composed a shot of a busker, and mid-frame, the back fell off. Literally detached. The busker stopped playing to laugh.

A tourist asked if it was a movie prop. Another asked if it took Polaroids.

He replied, deadpan, “Only in 6x7 dimensions.”

Street Tip #3: You don’t blend in with a RZ67. You become the scene. Lean into it. If you can’t be invisible, be unforgettable.

Stop 4: Croix-Rousse — Silk, Struggles, and Shutter Jams

Up in Croix-Rousse, he found the Mur des Canuts, a massive mural of Lyon’s silk-weaving past. Perfect chance for his 180mm. He tried to swap lenses.

Nothing happened.

The lens refused to budge.

He panicked, grunted, tugged — nearly dislocated a shoulder. A small group of art students gathered to watch what they assumed was a performance piece titled “Man vs. Machine: The Struggle.”

Then he remembered: you must advance the frame before removing the lens.

He turned the film crank in shame. The lens came off smoothly, as if the RZ67 was now satisfied he had been thoroughly punished.

Street Tip #4: The RZ67 is not a camera. It’s a gatekeeper. Fail its rituals, and you shall not pass.

Stop 5: Les Halles – The Existential Lunch Break

Defeated but not broken, he staggered into Les Halles de Lyon Paul Bocuse for a spiritual reset: quenelles, Saint-Marcellin cheese, and a healthy pour of wine. The RZ rested beside him like a sleeping dog made of magnesium and scorn.

He looked at the people around him — laughing, eating, not carrying 3kg of vintage metal. But deep inside, he knew something they didn’t: suffering makes the frame sweeter.

He took one last shot — a waiter bathed in window light, mid-pour, frozen in time on a piece of Portra 400. He didn’t check settings. He just trusted. And shot. The RZ67 clicked quietly. Perfectly.

Final Thoughts: A Box, a City, a Curse in Disguise

Now, he owns two backs, speaks in leaf shutter poetry, and if his house ever catches fire, you’ll need three firemen and a lawyer to stop him from rescuing the RZ67 II first.

There is something magical about that big, bulky black box that’s hard to express. This camera didn’t just take photos — it reprogrammed his soul. It forced him to slow down, to observe, to respect the light and the moment. And yes, it nearly broke his spine.

But in return, it gave him frames filled with depth, tone, and weight — the kind of weight you feel in the chest, not just in the camera strap.

So, to any would-be street photographer with an RZ67 in hand and a dream in their heart: bring film. Bring humility. And bring a massage voucher.

Because as he likes to say:

“No pain, no 400.”